She went upstairs; George took his hat from the front hall rack and pushed open the screen door.

As he appeared on the veranda Susan was picking dead leaves from one of the hanging baskets; Ruth, seated in the hammock, hands in lap, her whole attitude intensely still, was watching her with narrowed eyes.
"What's this I hear," cried Warham, laughing, "about you two girls setting your caps for Sam Wright ?" And his good-humored brown eyes glanced at Ruth, passed on to Susan's wealth of wavy dark hair and long, rounded form, and lingered there.
Ruth lowered her eyes and compressed her lips, a trick she had borrowed from her mother along with the peculiarities of her mother's disposition that it fitted.

Susan flung a laughing glance over her shoulder at her uncle.

"Not Ruth," said she.
"Only me.

I saw him first, so he's mine.